


Artificial Nocturne

by jadedPage_ofHope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, I'm a terrible person and i'm sorry about that, Kidnapping, M/M, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, Uhm, psychostrider au, psychostriders au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedPage_ofHope/pseuds/jadedPage_ofHope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Elizabeth Strider and you think you're in love. Maybe he will grow to love you, too.</p>
<p>Your name is Dirk Ambrose Strider and you just want your brother to be happy. You will do whatever it takes.</p>
<p>Your name is John Huxtable Egbert and you are very scared. And you think you may want to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poster of a Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Panic Station](https://archiveofourown.org/works/628365) by [Perveteer (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Perveteer). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can't stand by myself; hate to sleep alone. Surprises always help, so I take somebody home."

Your name is Dave Strider and you think you're in love.

It started with an easy job that required a bit of travel. Neither you nor Bro minded all that much. Not a whole lot of important jobs were coming up and you both needed something to relieve the boredom. The assignment was turned into an ironic family vacation all the way up to Washington State, complete with dumb music and a trunk full of weapons, both of the deadly and the shitty variety. You were, after all, a family of diverse tastes.

You guessed you had assumed you would help Bro with this job, though you knew he wouldn't need any assistance, because that's usually why you were brought along to these things in the first place. But, after your nap, Bro shrugged you off, told you to go "enjoy the change of scenery or something," and that he would be back later, then closed the heavy motel room door behind him as he left into the night. You tried to tell yourself that it was just the first night, that tonight and tomorrow would be for information gathering. But it still stung and, well, you never really liked being by yourself.

An hour of debating later took you to deciding to go ahead and follow Bro's advice. If you didn't have to work, you might as well enjoy the different climate, the strange differences between this small town and your big city, may take the chance to fuck some serious shit up before you go back home. You left the motel as well, with only a dulled hunting knife strapped to your belt.

The stars above were clearer than they ever could be back home. Between them and the full moon, the lampposts, few and far in between, were hardly needed. The suburban streets were nearly empty as you wandered them, and you could have appreciated how the loudest noise was a few dogs barking and the crickets singing up in the surrounding trees- if you weren't so restless. But you were restless. You were itching for maybe a fight, or a small cop chase. Maybe you just needed to look for a good place to vandalize, leave your mark on this shitty Yankee Town while you were still here.

But as you walked past a small park, only marked with an outdated metal slide anchored by rotting mulch, and a small swing-set, already half occupied, those destructive thoughts soon left your mind.

The boy sat with his back facing you and you started to walk away. But, across from the park, you just... stopped. You couldn't move. Instead, your stare bore into the boys back and a feeling tickled in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't see his face, but you were privy to the way his shoulders hunched over. You couldn't see his eyes but you saw how his head hung. You couldn't see anything definitive about this stranger, but he looked exactly how you felt.

You found yourself trudging through the damp grass until you were placed on the second swing, facing where you were just standing. The boy jerked away and nearly flipped off his seat- you would forever deny that your mouth twitched. Once he regained his balance, he snapped his wide eyes to your face.

Everything about this boy had "dweeb" written on it, from his crown of cowlicks, all the way down to the subtle pudginess that poked out into love-handles beneath his sweater. He had thick-rimmed glasses and over-sized teeth that pushed against his plush, bottom lip and soft, round cheeks, reddened by the late September chill. It was cute and you were never more thankful for your glasses as heat began to rise in your own cheeks.

"Oh! Uhm, hi!" His voice was sort of high in pitch, but it suited him. You only offered a twitch of your mouth in response, but he seemed to be okay with that. "Uh, what... what are you doing out after curfew? Or are you new here?"

You opened your mouth to maybe respond, but you just didn't know how, so you pretended to yawn. Better to come off as an asshole than to let him in on how you were actually kind of freaking the fuck out. If it was Bro you were talking to, you would tell him to fuck off or something. But this wasn't Bro- definitely not Bro, you observed, eyeing the way his brows furrowed slightly and how he pursed his mouth into a pout. Oh no, he was offended. Say something, say something!

"Couldn't sleep," you mumbled. You looked down to hide the flush spreading across your face. Damn it. Smooth. Real smooth.

"Yeah. Me, neither. I'm John Egbert!"

Blinking back up to John (damn it, even his name is cute, fuck), you gave another lip-twitch. Your stomach felt really weird, kind of like how it does when your Bro does something nice for you. Affection. That's it, a wave of affection warmed your tummy.

"Dave."

"Just Dave? Okay," John chuckled, kicking his feet off the ground. His body swung forward a bit and, goddamnit, he just looked so pleased with himself. "I haven't seen you around, Dave! Are you new here?"

"Uh... Kinda?" Real. Fucking. Smooth. "My Bro and I are on vacation, travelin' through the states, y'know, family bonding and bullshit like that, but it's cool, so tight, we's is gettin' our brotherly love on, gonna see the sights, dog, all of them." Much better.

John's shoulders sag a little and it wasn't until then that you noticed that, wow, yeah, he did perk up a bit more when you sat next to him, damn, maybe... maybe this was fate.

Also, Bro would be so ashamed.

"Oh. Wh-what made you decide to stop here?" John finally asked after a moment of chewing on that cute bottom lip with those adorable oversized teeth. "I mean. This is a small town. In case you didn't notice."

"Huh. Really? It's really big compared to Houston, like I was absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer size of this mammoth-like city.”

“Dude, shut up,” John laughed and bumped into your swing with his. "So, where are you gonna head to next?" he asked.

"Back home. Got shit to do."

"Oh."

And what could you say to that?

After a brief moment of comfortable silence, John opened his mouth again and... and he didn't shut back up. The boy could talk and you thought it should have been annoying, but the truth was that it was so refreshing because you are only ever around Bro and both of you are pretty stoic-silent and then this doofus just flaps his jaws together ("My best friend really likes the animes and I tried to get into them, too! Do you like the animes, Dave? Do you, Dave?") and it was so nice to hear a voice that wasn't your own that you didn't even care that he was a huge dork- ("... and to get back at me, she sent me a video with no context- none! And, well, this is embarrassing to admit but, it was furry porn! I stopped trying to prank her after that!") it suited him. King of Dorks.

During a really passionate sermon of some McConaughey movie ("It is not a dumb name, Dave! And he's a great actor!"), John absently slid his phone from his pocket and unlocked it to glance at the time.

"Oh! Oh, Dave, it's almost four o'clock!" John leaped from his swing, eyes wide. "I am so sorry for- for this! It was really nice to meet you, but I have to go now! Be safe, Dave!" And, with a quick wave and a crooked smile, John was running through the damp grass of the park and into the night.

It wasn't until you were back in the shady motel room, lying in your designated bed of choice, that you realized that the heaviness in your chest wasn't quite as thick.

Since that night, your “vacation” was a bit brighter. For the remaining week, while Bro was out doing the job, you would wander around the small town with your camera at the ready. Sometimes, you even saw John walking around. If you were lucky, he would see you, too. When he did, he would bound up to you like you were old friends and just talk. Otherwise, you would follow a safe distance with a pink face hidden behind your camera.

You dreaded never seeing him again.

Your last day in this shitty Yankee town that you were going to miss (if only for one reason), you were, once again, roaming the streets, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse at your favorite dork, but he was nowhere to be seen. You had already passed his house a couple of times that day and were reluctant to do so again. Instead, you opted to wandering around the small town’s main square, hoping that maybe he would show up.

And then he did.

Talking to a girl you frequently saw him with (no, you weren’t jealous, shut up), was the chubby, flushed, fucking dorky dweeb. Your initial reaction was the make yourself invisible, to follow him because, damn it, this was the last time you were going to ever see him again, and, then, you were too choked up about it to hide at all. But then he saw you and with that stupid grin, he stumbled towards you, weaved through the crowd of window shoppers as he shouted something to the girl over his shoulder.

“Dave!” he greeted, like he hadn’t seen you in ages. You pretended your face wasn't getting hot. “I was just thinking about you! I know you’re leaving soon, so here!” Before you could say anything, he had already dug into his jean pocket and shoving a closed fist into your chest.

You rose an eyebrow like you were annoyed he was touching you, but accepted the offer. His grin widened, showing all of his teeth and crinkling his nose as his arm fell back to his side. He stared up at you expectantly.

You looked at the crumpled piece of paper in your hand and smoothed it over until a name written in chickenscratch was revealed: ectoBiologist.

“What the everloving fuck is an ectobiologist?” you asked as if your heart wasn’t thumping harder in your ribs.

“I dunno, it just sounded cool! But it's my chum handle! Do you have a pesterchum account, Dave? Oh, I didn’t even think of if you didn’t!” he babbled, though he looked completely unbothered. You swallowed the dry lump in your throat.

“Yeah, I got one. I’ll message you. Thanks.”

His smile stretched even wider and you would kill for that grin, damn it.

“No problem, Dave! I’m so glad I got to give it to you before you left, I kept looking for you because I didn’t know how to get ahold of you, but now it won’t be a problem, right? When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.” Your palms were sweating as you folded the paper and slid it into your pocket with care.

“Oh. Well, have a safe trip, Dave! And keep in touch.” You nod once. “Anyway, I gotta go! I wish we could have spent more time together,” he finished with a chuckle, finally turning away as he waved at you, then headed back towards the waiting girl.

* * *

 

It has been two months since you and Bro left Washington State and you did, in fact, keep in touch with John Egbert.

And you are absolutely fucking certain you are in love.

Two months glued to your phone or your computer, imagining his goofy, wheezy laugh, telling him how shitty his movie choices are, bantering about pretty much anything, and you are so head-over-heels for King Dork that all the heaviness that weighs down in your chest often seems so much lighter until your self-loathing and restlessness calms down to a slight murmur. You didn’t feel so alone.

Except, for the past few days, Egbert has being glaringly absent online.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but Bro has been gone as well. And you were fine the first day, but when night came and you were left staring blankly at your computer screen and straining your ears for Bro’s presence, you started to choke on just how alone you were again. The second day was worse and you ended up not eating or sleeping, and only stopped pacing the apartment to check your phone and computer.

Today is the third day, and you’re back on your computer, sending message after needy fucking message to an offline Egbert and unresponding brother. After an hour of this bullfuckery, you drag yourself to your bed, near tears for the first time in years, as your thoughts get louder and louder- “he ran away, he doesn’t want you anymore, fucking useless, he got hurt, you’re so alone.”

Somehow you fall asleep clutching the piece of paper with John’s chumhandle written on it.

* * *

 

You wake up to the door slamming shut.

“Dave! I got a present for ya!”

You climb out of your bed and out your room with caution, your face as blank as you could make it. When you enter the living room, you’re greeted by Bro grinning with his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the back of the couch. You shuffle closer to him with relief you hope doesn’t show on your face. You want to ask where he was, why he was gone for so long, if something happened.

“What is it?” you ask instead.

Bro just nods his head to the front of the couch so you come even closer until you’re peering over the back and staring at… is that a person?

It is.

Tied up, head covered, and laying on the dingy cushions, was a person whimpering back down. You raise an eyebrow at Bro but his grin only widens as he gestures you back towards the person. You lean over the couch and reach for the bag over this chubby boy’s head and tug it off.

Blue eyes that you still dream about blink up at you, terrified and just as pretty as you remembered.

“John,” you breathe.

“Happy birthday, lil bro.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles might change. I am a fickle mother fucker. Anyway, thanks for giving this a try! I wasn't actually feeling this, to be honest, so I'll probably just completely rewrite it. But I really wanted post /something/ so yeah. Here it is.


	2. Chokechain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fucking with me, and you'll get bitten most likely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for comments and kudos and, goodness! I'm so thankful!

Your name is Dirk Strider and your little brother’s birthday is coming up very soon.

He is going to love his present.

For the past two months, ever since that small political job in an even smaller Washington town, Dave has been distracted. You didn’t mind. You mostly included him on these jobs to give him something to do, something to look forward to. And, while you were initially reluctant to let your baby brother in on your less than savory lifestyle, he had a knack for it. You wish that didn’t make you swell with pride. But you digress.

The point was that you just wanted Dave to be happy. And with your career, it was hard to be able to make that happen. You know he’s lonely, even if you don’t understand.

That changed, though.

At first, the change was subtle. You caught it, of course; you caught everything. Even though you were rarely around him while you scouted out the small-town mayor, you could pick up on how his shoulders weren’t quite so low and how his chin was just a bit higher. He left the motel room, didn’t harass you through run-on text messages. It wasn’t until you went through his camera you realized exactly why.

You didn’t think much of it, though. Sure, the kid was cute and Dave never really had the opportunity to make friends before and maybe this one had been particularly friendly. At first, you dumbly assumed that it was a passing infatuation and you were more than happy to let your brother make mooneyes while you both were there.

  
On the way home was when you realized that a passing infatuation wasn’t actually the case. For the two-and-a-half days you were on the road, Dave’s mouth would twitch as he tapped away at his iphone and he would sigh- fucking sigh, goddamnit. And maybe you hoped that this would pass- you literally lived across the country from this strange kid Dave was swooning over, wouldn’t this be bad for him? But it didn’t pass. It seemed to get worse.

Dave would often opt out of the jobs you offered him when, before, he would jump at the chance. He also seemed more relaxed whenever you got home late, like he wasn’t awaiting your return with baited breath, like he was okay with being left at home for long hours, sometimes days. And you knew, you fucking knew, it was thanks to this kid- John Huxtable Egbert, whom you had managed to find out ridiculous amounts of information on as soon as you realized that he was going to become a permanent fixture in your brother’s life.

Right now, you are staring expectantly at Dave’s face, which is still straight and unresponsive, you note with pride. You shift your gaze to look at Egbert’s own expression, which is tearyeyed and, yeah, he happens to look real nice with that gag stuffed into his mouth and drool hinted around the edges, you’re almost jealous.

  
Dave finally turns his attention back to you with a twitch of a pale eyebrow. You almost want to grin. Instead, you pull a spiked chokechain out of your hoodie pocket and offer it to him.

“Thought ya’d wanna do the honors yerself, lil bro.”

He nods once, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at the silver in his hands, running thin fingers over the parts that are meant to dig in the neck. Egbert is whimpering again, but you both ignore him. You’re having a moment and he needs to shut the fuck up- but you’ll teach him all about that later. Right now, he’s still a puppy that needs to be trained. You say so and Dave’s lips twitch, just barely, at the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll need to get a tag,” he finally says, which just means thank you and you accept it with a slow nod, like you hadn’t thought of that. Which you had.

Next, you pull out a long, thick leather collar and hand it to him with the hint of a smirk. He runs a trembling hand over the smooth object until he reaches the center where a pink heart sits, engraved with John Egbert and Dave’s number beneath.

“Figured ya’d want one of yer own.”

And then Dave is hugging you.

You stiffen up in his hold because hugging isn’t a thing you typically do in your house, but Dave is just so happy and that’s all you’ve ever wanted as his brother and legal guardian.

And then he’s on the other side of the couch, kneeled next to Egbert and thumbing away some of his tears. He’s shooshing the boy’s whimpering and petting his hair and it is so uncool but you don’t care, you’re just relieved that Dave has something he can take care of and love and maybe Dave won’t be so lonely. You don’t understand, but you accept it.

* * *

 

A few days later, Dave is upset.

You don’t know why, only that you’re in the living room with Lil Cal in your lap as you watch Jersey Shore when Dave lets out a shout and John screams. Then Dave barrells out of his room, redfaced, slams the door, and beelines for the bathroom.

You mute the television. You can hear John sobbing from his and Dave’s room and you can hear crashing and thumps from the bathroom. You set Lil Cal on the cushion next to you and stand up with fluid calm. With that same calm you linger at the hall that leads to the bathroom, only for a moment, before you glide to Dave’s bedroom door.

John is red-faced, curled up the floor, and clutching at his stomach. His clothes are rumpled; his shorts are tugged just past his hips and his shirt looks stretched out around his neck and is pushed up to show the little muffin-top he has going for him. He hasn’t heard you enter and doesn’t notice you until you’re crouched down in front of him. His glasses are crooked and he’s blinking up tearfully at you with the widest, bluest eyes you ever did see.

“What’d you do?”

He shakes his head, like he’s startled or something, but it was a real simple fucking question. You lean a little closer.

“What. The fuck. Did you do?” you ask with clearer enunciation.

His mouth trembles as he tries to get words out, but, other than the sobs and breathy sniffles, he’s silent. Something, something very faint in the back of your mind, right next to the base of your skull, sparks and your vision narrows into slits. You snatch up the soft black tresses and yank his head closer to your line of vision and he’s crying out, too fucking loud, so you give his head a quick shake.

“Shut the fuck up!” you growl. You can’t understand what he’s babbling very well, but you can make out the words ‘home,’ and ‘please.’ You repeat your order with more force, more volume and another sharp shake, and he obeys.

“Davey just needs to learn how to be the master here. Yer gonna have to learn together. But I will tell ya one thing.” You tighten your grip in his hair. “This is yer only warning, ya hear? One more time an’ _I’ll_ deal with ya.”

You drop his head with a satisfying thud and stand up. You kick him once in the stomach, hopefully where Dave’s previous damage had taken place, and turn heel to head out. He’s sobbing again, so you stop at the door.

“An’ shut that up or I’ll give you a real reason to get upset over.”

Later, when Dave comes out, face more or less back to its normal pale shade, you’re back to relaxing to another episode of shitty reality television. He sits next to you. He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps opening his mouth like he’s going to. Finally, you beat him to it.  
  
“It’s about discipline, Lil Bro. Can’t let ‘em get away with too much.”

“I don’t want him to be unhappy,” he finally admits. You shrug.

  
“When he learns to obey, he won’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short D:. I just didn't think Bro needed a whole lot of space, just enough for you to get the general gist of his side of the story. Which is: Dave is his number priority and he will fuck you up if you make him upset. Anyway, I'm already started on the third chapter! Please, let me know if something doesn't add up or is stupid. I really want this to be good and to get better on the way.


	3. Breathing Underwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They were right when they said we should never meet our heroes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos!

Your name is John Egbert and your situation is becoming more and more hopeless.

The past week has been a nightmare and you don't know why this is happening to you. While you can freely admit the terror you felt has somewhat lessened upon seeing Dave's face, you are still on edge. Even though you were- _are_ \- sure this is a misunderstanding and Dave will take you back home when he can, you're becoming increasingly wary with each moment's passing without any assurance from Dave.

You understand jackshit.

Because of this, you are forced to come to your own conclusions, such as: Dave's brother is actually batshit crazy and Dave has to appear to be cool about this kidnapping thing; or this was a prank. A really terrible prank. But Dave's smiles aren't mischievous ones that you could easily relate to a prankster's gambit skyrocketing. They're kind of soft, like how you used to look at Vriska when you had a crush on her. And he's always touching you, pulling you into hugs, brushing hair out of your eyes... It's so uncomfortable and you don't want to say anything because you're still hoping he'll take you home or let you call your dad or something.

He also slaps your hand away whenever you try to take off this godforsaken collar. Normally, you would slap his hand back but his brother tends to loom around in those moments and you can feel him glowering from behind his glasses. You refrain.

His brother scares you.

All you can think of is those days you were tied and gagged in the backseat of his car and how he would hand feed you and- and you try not to think about when he helped you pee while whispering on your covered ear about how enjoyable you would be to have around. You're not naive enough to even pretend to not understand.

But Bro hasn't touched you since he dumped your body on his couch. You try to stay in Dave's room and Dave seems content with that.

Maybe too content.

He tries to act like everything is normal, like maybe you're just visiting or something, and you try to pretend the same. He'll insist on watching movies that "aren't totally lame," and mix beats for you and put on two-player videogames. But the collar keeps pinching your neck. And at night, when it's time for bed, he insists on wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to his side.

It is the third day in this apartment and you can't wait any longer. Patience was never your virtue- you were always the kid who over-watered the plants to make them grow faster or scorching the outside of a cake by setting the temperature too high. And this is kind of like that.

You're the first to wake up (or so you assume he's asleep, as he's unmoving; that's all you really have to go by, since his shades are perpetually attached to his stupid face) and, like the past two mornings here, you find yourself tangled in Dave's limbs. Your face is awfully close to his. You try to shift away from him, but he only squeezes you closer in a way that makes you aware that he's awake as well. He doesn't say or do anything, though, but his point was made.

You  didn't get why he wanted you so close. You wanted to believe the prank theory, that maybe these were platonic bro-snuggles, and that your dad wasn't worried sick over you. You wanted to believe this was a misunderstanding of some sort. But you weren't delusional. Your gut swilled in dread, hinting at things you refused to think about. The only time the subject of your going home came up, Dave quickly shot it down.

"Don't worry about it. Bro will hear." And Bro was the magic word that promptly made you shut the fuck up.

But _why_ , you want to ask. Why are you here? Why did Bro secret you away from your safe home? And why did he care? Why haven't you been taken back home yet?

"G'mornin," says Dave, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You can't stand it anymore. The dread settled in the pit of your stomach has reached a new height and you want to know what is going on, want to go home.

"Dave, why am I here?"

Dave's smile slides off his face. He shrugs away from you, scooting to his own side of the sizable bed. You stay 

"Why does it matter?" he hedges. "You're here anyway." 

You shake your head at the unsatisfying answer and sit up. "Dave, when am I going home?"

It's like Dave is cringing away from you and it makes you feel like maybe you have the upper hand here. You scoot a little closer to Dave.

"My father is probably so worried, Dave. Why am I here? When are you going to take me home?"

By now, the blonde has sat up as well and is facing you with thinned lips. You start to continue your questioning, hoping to get somewhere, but then he raises his hand brings it down on your cheek. The cry you let out is unintentional, and it is more from surprise than actual pain. You finger your hot cheek, staring up at the impassive face, mouth opened slightly and eyes widened at the shock.

"Why can't you just enjoy being here?" he finally asks very quietly. "You're taken care of. Aren't you?"

"I want to go home," you return just as quietly. "This joke isn't funny anymore." Warm tears are trailing down your cheeks. You bow your head to hide them.

The gentle hand in your hair makes you twitch back but you are suddenly afraid to do anything. The cold dread in your stomach is getting bigger until you are shivering with it.

"This..." He pauses to clear his throat. "This was never a joke, John." His voice is as gentle as his hand brushing past tangles in your hair, almost soothing, but it does nothing to lighten the panic nudging up residence next to the dread in your stomach.

His hand trails down your neck, stopping at the thick leather there. You try to think of how ridiculous your tanline would be, but it only heightens the nerves in your body. It isn't until Dave's soft smile is back that you realize how much you're trembling.

"It's my birthday tomorrow, John, and that's why you're here." He is running fingertips over your shoulders and past your cheeks, back into your hair, just touching you, always fucking touching you. Your breath has a hitched edge to each intake. "And Bro is a really great gift-giver," he mumbles, more to himself than to you.

Dave pushes you down on the bed and swings a leg over your hip. You try to sit back up, but his hands are on your chest, shoving you back again. He leans forward to your ear and whispers, fanning hot breath over your face.

"John, I'm so glad you're here."

His fingers are everywhere, crawling up your shirt, carding through your hair, smoothing over your chest- it is hard to realize that his lips are there, too. But they are, they're wet and soft and on your jaw and the whitehot panic overthrows the dread.

You buck your hips to throw him off. He hooks his fingers in the loop of your pants to regain balance. Agitated, you try to roll from under him but his other hand catches the neck of your shirt. You hear the popping of stretching fabric but pay no mind. Bro had brought a bag of your clothes with him.

Dave yanks you back down by your shirt and shoves his hands back on your chest. He's no longer smiling, but he is still trying. He presses his lips against yours, forcing your body down by with every part of his own.

But you remember you have hands and shove him away. He is surprised enough to fall to your side and you roll away for space, but end up on the floor. Dave looks down at you with a straight line for a mouth. Your own mouth is trembling.

"Dave-"

"Shut up! You're here and nothing is going to change that so just shut up and accept it!"

He crawls from his bed and hovers over you, hands embracing your damp face. "Just accept it," he repeats in a murmur, and then he's back to kissing you, bruising your mouth and using teeth to tug at your swelling lips. You go to shove him away again but he has thought ahead and as soon as your hands touch his chest, he grabs hold of your wrists and forces them them to the sides of your head. He climbs on top of your body again, hard and thick in his boxers, and presses against your tummy.

"Please, Dave, stop," you whimper against his mouth, only to have his tongue shoved in. You don't realize you're sobbing until he finally pushes away.

"Why, John? This was meant to happen." His voice is low, unsteady. "I-I just wanna make you feel good."

"I want to go home. I want to go back home, please," you choke. His expression is so hard to read with his shades on but his mouth is trembling as well. Maybe, maybe he's going to give in. Maybe he will take you home. "Just let me go home, please."

He shakes his head once, sniffles, and pushes away from you. He stands up and steps away from your body, but the sense of panic and dread is not dying down any. If anything, it's getting worse. He paces the floor, running unsteady hands through his pale blonde hair and, if you look close enough, there's tears spilling from behind his glasses.

"No. No, you can't." He sniffles again as he stops next to you. "You have to stay."

"Dave, plea-"

" _No_!"

Your gasp is drowned out his shout as his foot connects with your side. On instinct, you roll away, but he's there, kicking you again, harder this time, and in the soft part of your stomach. You scream and curl up, prepared for another strike. Instead, though, there's the sound of a door slamming, and then another far off in the apartment.

And you just sob.

You really thought Dave would take you home. You really hoped that this was a mistake or a misunderstanding or something because there was no way you were really kidnapped and there was no way your captor was your best internet bro. It wasn't possible, you refused to let it cross your mind.

But here you are, curled up on Dave's floor with the feeling of violation and a collar on your neck. Suddenly, there doesn't seem to be much optimism left in your system. Only despair.

“What’d you do?”

You blink up at Bro, terror seizing and arresting your despair. You open your mouth to try and form words, but only manage to shake your head. He leans closer; you can smell stale cigarettes on his breath.

“What. The fuck. Did you do?” He’s so close and you can’t speak, you’re so scared, so so scared.

His fist shoots out and yanks a hand full of your hair. You cry out, but he only shakes your head until you quiet down. You taste blood and realize you’ve been biting your cheek. You didn’t realize you were babbling, but promptly do as he says and, “Shut the fuck up!” the second time he orders it.

“Davey just needs to learn how to be the master here. Yer gonna have to learn together. But I will tell ya one thing. This is yer only warning, ya hear? One more time an’ I’ll deal with ya.” You let out a strangled sob.

He drops your head and kicks your stomach, same as his younger brother. When he’s out of your line of vision, you try to relax, but you can still feel him there in the room with you. You can’t stop crying

“An’ shut that up or I’ll give you a real reason to get upset over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think?


	4. Do I Wanna Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Simmer down and pucker up; I'm sorry to interrupt, it's just that I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. But I don't know if you feel the same as I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry and thank you for your reviews and kudos.

Your name is Dave Strider and you've been very patient.

At least, you've tried to be. Patience is a difficult trait to maintain when the love of your life is finally, fucking _finally_  within your reach. Especially when said soulmate is as unhappy as yours. You understand that this is a huge transition for John and you have tried to remain understanding as well as calm. For the first few days of his stay here, he didn't ask very many questions. In fact, he didn't talk all that much at all. It was so different from the John Egbert you knew, but, again, patience was essential.

Bro assured you that he would grow to be comfortable and happy here.

You believe him.

You also wonder if maybe the collar was too much, but you're sure it's ironic or something. And John looks really good with it on. You know he would look even better with nothing else, but patience, patience, patience. After all, the last time you lost your patience didn't end very well.

You never wanted to hurt John.

But he was so frustrating! He was so quiet and hesitant, so shy compared to who you grew to know and adore, and he would flinch whenever you would move to touch him. The idea that he didn't want you made your chest ache and made you fucking ruthless with it, so you made sure to touch him even more- pull him into hugs or on your lap, brush his hair out of his face, and, when it was finally time for bed, you would tug him close to your body and sleeping with John made for the best sleep. He never protested too much, but you sensed it was because he was afraid to. You didn't want that, but how could you ease his fears?

Furthermore, when he finally decided to open his mouth, it was to ask questions you wanted to ignore. "Why am I here?" How were you supposed to answer that? You knew why he was there, it was because you were meant to be together and Bro knew that and you needed John like you needed air and Bro knew that, too. But how were you supposed to articulate that without sounding crazy? Especially when he voiced wanting to go home?

So you panicked.

And you're so sorry for losing your patience and hurting him, but he was so pretty with those tears in his eyes and hair mussed and you were just trying to make him _feel_ what you felt. And when he resisted, when he fucking cried, it was like being sucker punched in the chest.

You don't want John to be unhappy with you. You want to give him the world and so much more. You articulated as much to Bro after you hurt John. "When he learns to obey, he won't be," he said. You had to think about what it meant. Admittedly, John obeying your every wish and command was the stuff made of wet dreams, but you didn't want a mindless pet. You just wanted his love and respect and for him to need you as much as you needed him.

Without John, the demons came back. Without John, you were alone.

But Bro was right. If you wanted John to be happy, he definitely needed to learn to not anger you. If he would just do as you wanted him to, he could be so happy.

With this in mind, you now carry two bowls of ravioli to your bedroom, where he's sitting on your bed, glaring at your locked computer. He doesn't look your way.

His face is still red, especially where you slapped his cheek, and his eyes are glassy and tear-filled. You choose not to mention either and wordlessly offer one of the bowls to him. He still doesn't look at you and you feel your nervous stomach briefly flicker towards agitation. You swallow that down, however. Now isn't the time to lose your temper.

"You haven't eaten much since you've been here, dude." He isn't saying anything. He isn't looking your way. Anxiety is bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

"Dude. Eat the goddamn pasta!" you finally shout.

His stricken expression immediately makes you want to gobble back your words and tone. He shudders and almost curls into himself, blue eyes wide and terrified. Tears are falling.

You sigh and sit on the edge of the bed next to him, trying to ignore how he inches just the slightest bit away from you.

"John, if you're going to stay here, then we're gonna have to work on some ground rules." His scoff made your fists clench. You struggled to keep your head cool and remember your Bro's advice.

"I don't like hurting you," you continue with gritted teeth. "And I hope I won't have to in the future."

"D-Dave," John interrupts softly. "I just want to go home."

You jump out of the bed like you've been burned, bowls toppling over on your sheets. "See, this is exactly what I'm talking about, Egbert!" you grit out. "How am I supposed to keep my cool when you act so fucking childish?" He gapes at you, but you're past caring about his feelings- what about _your_  feelings? You pace the floor.

"I've been taking care of you, haven't I? At least I fucking try to, but you're so goddamn stubborn, John! If you'd just do what I tell you to do, this shit wouldn't have happened!" You gesture towards him, his stretched clothes, his bruised lips, his probably sore stomach.

"So we are going to lay down the goddamn law and you will be punished if you disobey." You pause and stop your pacing to face the teenager in front of you. His eyes are watery still, his face grave. This isn't what you want for him but you know Bro is right. If he listened to you, obeyed you, he could be so happy here with you. If he would stop this nonsense about home and his dad and accept that you both were meant to be together, there would be absolutely no problems.

"I don't like doing this, John," you finally sigh, choosing to ignore the look of disbelief flashing through his blue eyes. "But it's necessary.

"First rule: obviously, you will listen and do what Bro and I tell you. No exceptions. We're keeping a roof over your head and food in your stomach, if you'd just fucking eat, anyway.

"Second rule: you are going to quit fucking with that collar around your neck. It was a gift from Bro and you better fucking respect it. In fact, respect Bro and me in general. Disrespect won't be tolerated, John. Especially not from Bro.

"Third: absofuckinglutely do not attempt escape or outside contact." You say this so seriously, you almost sound like your brother. But you continue in a softer tone, gentle. "You won't succeed, John. And if you do, you will be found and punished severely for it. I don't want that." You inch closer to where the younger boy is sitting until you're looming over his shivering form. He's no longer looking at you and you can see the glint of more tears that feel like acid to your skin.

Your hand finds its way into his ridiculously soft hair, hoping to sooth away the negativity in this boy you love.

"If you do these things, John, if you obey, you'd be happy here, really happy. We're meant for each other, John. You just have to realize it."

"Dave," he gasps, and he's sobbing and the sound hurts you, it burns and the only way you can make it stop is to pull him into your arms as he crumbles. You catch the pieces, hold them together, and whisper about how much you love him, how you've always loved him as he falls apart in the safety of your arms.

But then he's pulling away, pushing you back. You try to cling harder, circling your arms tight enough that he loses his breath. Each moment he struggles brings another demon in your head and you're afraid you'll be alone even with John here.

That's not possible, though. He's yours, you were meant for each other, made to be together.

"Don't fight this, don't fight me," you beg in his ear. He doesn't seem to hear you as he whispers half-formed pleas against your cheek. Your hand finds its way into his hair so you use it to smooth it back in what you hope is comforting motions but he isn't calming down. His breathing is getting heavier, sending chills down your spine, becoming more ragged and uneven until you finally pull back to look at his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut. His mouth is letting out shuddered wisps of air. Your hands find his cheeks, smoothing away tears, but they keep coming and coming and no one is wiping away yours and with each gasp he makes, you crumble, too.

"John, John, please," you whimper, fucking whimper, but you can't make yourself feel embarrassed. You think about all the times he's messaged you on pesterchum, made you feel human again with no idea that you were falling apart and how he's falling apart now and you _can't fucking stop it_.

You are reduced to murmuring in his ear and sprinkling kisses over his face until his breathing somewhat calms down.  You push him back in the bed and crawl over him,  ignoring his growing panic and the ravioli staining your sheets. Your legs press against John's hips as you lean in closer to his face to plant a soft kiss on each eyelid,  but you leave it at that.  You want more but you don't take it. Instead, you rest your cheek against his and continue running a hand through his hair.

You can still hear the panic in his breathing, but it's slowly subsiding. You nuzzle at his hairline, whispering more encouraging words.

"You're being too soft with him," comes your brother's voice from your door. You don't reply, but you don't think he expected you to anyway. John is whimpering again, like the cute dog he'd make, so you kiss his neck.

When you pull away, you take the extra time to wipe away the tears smeared around his flushed face before you crawl off of him and face Bro. He's leaning against the threshold off your door with crossed arms.

"I take it di'nt go well?" he draws. You glanced back at John, who has curled up on his side.

"It'll get better," you say, to both of them. "It'll get better," you repeat to yourself. Bro just shrugs and directs his gaze on John.

"Just remember what happens when a dog bites."

After he leaves, the only sound of your soulmate's sobs keep the monsters at bay. You both know what Bro means.

 

It is your birthday and you're now 18. You made John watch your alarm clock with you wrapped around his thick body, whispering secrets and plans in his ear as he shivered in your arms.

He hasn't stopped crying since yesterday. He isn't being loud anymore, though he did occasionally hiccup and sometimes he will choke a bit on his own tears, but for the most part, he stays with a damp face and red eyes.

You've tried to distract him, like before. You even put on shitty movies you know he adores so that maybe he'd crack a smile or at least put a pause on the constant stream of tears that haven't yet has the opportunity to dry. But there's no use. You try to remain patient and understanding, but that didn't seem to be much use either. You try to remain optimistic, but you're terrified that he'll never grow to love you like he's supposed to.

When he falls asleep at 1, you cry, too.

It's now about 10 in the morning and you have spent the entire night propped up on your elbow, landed over John, studying the way his baby cheeks flush in the cool air of your fan and how his eyes sometimes squeeze tighter as he dreams, they way his plush, pink mouth will form into a pout and he is so goddamn kissable. Whenever you gather enough courage, you dare to run your hand over the curve of his almost feminine waist, gently squeezing the lovehandles. Mostly, though, you spend the night convincing yourself that this will take time.

You hear your door open and appears Bro with a party hat perched on his head, Lil Cal hanging from his shoulders.

"Happy birthday to you," he starts monotonously. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Davey. Happy birthday to you. I would'a got ya something but uh, I already did." Even as he's saying this, he's bending behind the door and picking up something, then throwing it at you. It startles John awake and you automatically wrap your arms protectively around him. You pretend he doesn't stiffen in your arms. Instead, you tighten your hold before letting go to inspect the brightly colored wrapping on the box just thrown your way.

The wrapping is covered with ponies and the box beneath it is long and thick. You sit up and pull the decently lightweight box in your lap before tearing it open. Inside lays a mess of frills and lace. Upon further inspection, you realize it's a dress. For a moment, you're confused and a little offended, but you realize the width of the dress is too wide for you.

You glance at John, who is now sitting up next to you, curiously peering into the box, then his waist. Then, you smirk up at your ridiculously stoic brother.

"Didn't realize he came with accessories."

John gasps, edging away from you, but then Bro clears his throat loud enough to make John freeze. Out of pure impulse and maybe a little bit of spite (and eagerness that comes with the knowledge that John wasn't going to reject your affections with Bro right there), you scoot close enough that your hips touch.

"Yeah, well I figured I coul'nt half-ass your eighteenth birthday. Congratulation, yer an adult." With that, he's leaving your room, shutting the door behind him.

You finger the dress, trying to imagine how John would look in it. It had never really crossed your mind to imagine him in a dress before, let alone one as frilly and cute as this one- these kinds of kinks were more your brother's thing. But now that you were faced with very real possibility of seeing it happen, you couldn't say you were opposed to it in the least. Especially when you counted in the possibilities the dress came with. Specifically bending the teenager over something and flipping the dress up for easy access.

Seeing John in a sexual way is a new thing. You didn't fall in love with him because of how cute he is, which on a scale of one to ten is hella, but with him here, so close to you, seeing him in that light was easy. So easy, it is more difficult to keep your hands to yourself. It just seemed like the natural next step in your relationship and you have to remind yourself that he hasn't realized that you're meant to be together yet, that he hasn't been faced with the realization that you can finally show each other your love for one another. Yet.

It will happen. It will be okay.

You turn to John, surprised to see him downright glaring at the dress. It's cute. You bend your head low enough to rest awkwardly against his shoulder and stare up at him until his glower is directed to you.

"Did you get me anything for my birthday?"

That surprises the glare out of his expression, which is even cuter. Before he can answer, you continue.

"If not, there are other things you can give me," you tease with a quirk to your mouth. He blinks down at you and he had officially reached max kissability and it's his fault so you push up and press your mouth against his.

He doesn't shove you away.  You're so fucking happy you could die. Butterflies tickle your lurching stomach and your heart throbs sweetly. This is the best birthday by far and you think that if you could do this whenever you wanted, you'd always be okay.

When you pull away, your grin falls.

Tears are starting their trek from his shut eyes.

It will get better.

It will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a job and I don't have time or energy. I literally wrote this all lll on my phone over the past two weeks.  
> if anyone's interested, my tumblr is jadedpage-ofhope.  
> and here's the picture of John's dress: http://www.lolitadress.co.uk/images/Lolita/Blue-Classic-Lolita-Dress-TQL120426008.jpg


	5. The Night Starts Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You name your child after your fear, and tell them, 'I have brought you here.'"

Your name is Bro Strider and you're kind of regretting your lil bro's birthday present.

Regret isn't something that you often have to deal with, and yet... Here it is. You're sure the kid will come around, learn how to obey Dave and yourself, but you also wonder if maybe this whole thing was a bad idea, if maybe their relationship, whatever it was, worked for them. You have to scoff at yourself, though, because since when do you ever second guess your decisions?

  
A fucking lot, if you were honest. Especially when it came to raising Dave.

  
You'd never let him know that, though. You needed to maintain that cool persona that he so admired. Couldn't stand to shatter that dream of his, now could you?  
You sigh against your little brother's door and kick yourself away from it, removing that ridiculous birthday hat. You know how well the Egbert kid will recieve the dress. But you also know that, after your talk with him, he ain't gonna say nothing about it either. Maybe it'll be best to let Dave handle these struggles on his own- to a point.

  
As you walk into the kitchen, unmindful of the sticky tile beneath your bare and cold feet, you ponder your brother's life. He was thrust into your care when you were 21- he was only 3 at the time. You try not to remember how you tried to push him on other people. You try not to remember how you hated the idea of becoming a legal guardian to a little shit who could barely say his ABC's. Instead, you focus on how you did take him in when you found out your mother was doing tricks. While you're the last person to criticize anyone for anything, it was out of your hands. Child Protective Services were already involved and deemed you best fit for Dave Elizabeth Strider.

  
And you accepted.

  
Not because you're a great person. Not because you had a brotherly love and protectiveness for your brother strong enough to match the great tides of the sea or any of that bullshit. Hell, you had only even met him a handful of times. He was pretty cool, always wanting to be held by you when you were around but... The reason you kept him was because Roxy Lalonde, your Ride Or Die partner told you to.

  
Fifteen years later, and he calls you Bro and Roxy Auntie Lalonde- by her insistance.

  
There were really good aspects to Dave's life. He was never without family who loved him. Even if said family was a little toxic, kind of weird. Roxy and her daughter, Rose, always came to see ya'll, and Jake English, whenever you were on a good note, ooh'd and aah'd over how big Dave was getting. There were others, always others who showed Dave affection that you never could. And he never seemed to resent you for it.

  
Still, though, in the back of your ever-turning mind, you wondered. Was this affecting him? He couldn't go to school- not with your job and constant moving around. There would have been too many questions that you wouldn't have been there to answer. He only had a handful of children to be around- mostly only ever Rose. Was this bad for his "develomental stage," or whatever? Would he grow up socially retarded?

  
Roxy was always there putting your fears to rest, teaching Dave when you couldn't, reassuring you that Dave was bright, didn't need that much socialization, not with the lifestyle he was being raised in, that you, herself, and her daughter were all Dave would need.

  
And she was right. Dave grew up brilliant and creative. Sometimes physical affection made him wince and he didn't always know how to articulate how he felt; oftentimes, he panicked if he was too alone... But Dave was fine.

  
And now that he had this John Huxtable Egbert with him, Dave had everything he needed. So what if he was homeschooled until he was 16? So what if he may never go to college? Dave had a roof over his head, Dave had family to look out for him, Dave had food in his belly, and now Dave had a pet, a lover, a compainion, _whatever you wanted to call John_ , to help him through the demons you didn't understand.

  
Everything was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know that it's been almost a year. And I know that this chapter in no way makes up for it. But this is literally the first thing I have written since the last chapter of Artificial Nocturne. I'm trying to get that passion back, that drive and inspiration, and it's a slow and somewhat painful process. But I hope that this, while short, can still hold your attentions.  
> With much love and apologies,  
> LC
> 
> P.S  
> I might try to add to this chapter. If not, I'll try to get John's point of view out of my body as soon as possible.


	6. He's Hurting Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've never been confronted with my own thoughts. They don't bother me when I'm alone. Can someone please come and save me, 'cause he won't stop? Now get him off his fucking throne."

Your name is John Egbert and you’re really tired of crying.

Your head is a jumbled mess of panic and sadness that won’t die down. You’re never going home. Dave Strider is a monster. And his brother is Satan himself. Your body still hurts from yesterday, where you were kicked and slapped and you want to scrape off your skin where Dave has touched you. You realize it’s pointless to fight him. You only get hurt or punished. But you’re so sick of the tears coating your face and the knots in your stomach as he presses his mouth against yours.

Dave pulls away from you, his smile falling from his face. You feel a little pride at that as you try to glare at him. You’re not sure how it works, though, with tears running down your red face. He slowly shakes his head at you, but you don’t move. You don’t say anything. He presses his mouth against yours again.

Your shoulders are so stiff they ache and your teeth are clenched against the raw skin of your cheek. But you don’t move. You stay still, eyes wide open, glaring into Dave’s stupid aviator shades. Your face is still wet and your eyes are blurry, but maybe if you glare hard enough, he’ll suddenly get a conscience and stop. He doesn’t. He presses his tongue against your tight-fitting lips and it jolts you awake. You may feel hopeless. You may kind of want to die. But damn it, not yet. The violation is too much to ignore and you don’t want to take it laying down. You’re better than that. You’re stronger.

You shove the blonde back, though he doesn’t go very far, and try to scooch back. He’s right there, though, in your personal space, taking too much room, suffocating. You can’t give up, though, as flashes of your dad, of your friends and sister, and even your damned lizard, Casey, run through your mind. You think of Bro Strider comparing you to a dog and the stupid collar on your neck and Dave’s suggestion for a birthday present. You become so incredibly angry at the whole situation. There’s no room for regret or fear.

He tries to kiss you again, but you’re ready for him. Your fist is drawn back and swings with as much force as you can manage. There’s a muffled smacking noise and small crack. Then silence and stillness. Your stomach tries to knot itself up, but you refuse to relinquish your hold on that anger. They want a dog to put down, so be it.

You feel unsatisfied with the sound of your hit, feel like there wasn’t enough deserving force behind it, and draw back for another- then stop cold. Because…

Because Dave really is a monster. He is staring at you, no expression on his smooth, pale face. His platinum locks falling against his forehead are the only thing to frame his face, as his glasses are nowhere to be seen. In place, his eyes, big and angry and red, pierce you so readily that you freeze. Your heart stops. Your stomach sinks.

You know, rationally, he’s human. Blood, same color of his eyes, is gathered at the corner of his mouth, his cheeks are beginning to flush, and you can hear the angry woosh of his breathing as his chest heaves deeper and deeper. Despite that, however, you quickly lose most of your bravery as he stares. Cowardice knocks the wind out of you as Dave’s haunting eyes narrow into slits and his hands ball into fists. Then, he’s on top of you making you fall off the bed and land hard on the floor, your head hitting the ground with a smack. His legs straddle your chest as your own are caught on the bed still and he draws up his fist and brings it down against your cheek.

You let out a cry and struggle beneath him but, despite you being heavier than him, he has you pinned. He somehow maneuvers your flailing arms beneath his knees, then punches you again, this time hitting your nose. You feel more than hear the crack and cry out again. Once more, his fist is brought down, and your teeth rattle as blood pools in your mouth. His hit makes your teeth stick to your lips. You suddenly feel dizzy and weak, not even realizing that you’re babbling at him.

“Dave, please,” you choke through the blood in your mouth. “Dave, please, stop, I’m sorry, Dave!” You’re shaking your head at him, beseeching him for pity with the one eye that isn’t swelling shut. He shakes his head as well. All you can think about is that godawful dress and how it was for you and how Dave kisses you and how much you just want to disappear.

Before you know it, Dave has his fist in your shirt and yanks you up to meet his mouth. His lips are warm with his own blood, scorching with yours added to the mix. His tongue, cold in comparison, edges towards the mangled skin of your mouth and it stings. You wiggle beneath his weight but it’s no use. You shouldn’t have punched him. You shouldn’t have fought him because now his hands are up your shirt, playing with your nipple and you feel so violated and… and defeated. 

“Why can’t you just love me?” he asks softly against your mouth. You can’t tell if your face is wet with his tears or your own. It doesn’t matter, you’re sick of crying, and you’re sick of him.

It isn’t until he puts a bit of space between you that you realize he actually expects an answer. You try to be angry again, but you just feel weak, so there’s not heat in your words. 

“Because you’re an asshole,” you answer tiredly. It wasn’t the answer you should have said. You could think of a million better answers, more severe in their meaning, more scathing or appropriate. Dave blinked down at you with wide eyes. If the situation were different, you’d feel your prankster gambit rising a few notches. Instead, the knots in your stomach tightened.

You only realized you had shut your eyes when Dave’s laughter made them snap open in disbelief.

His eyes were squeezed shut as he doubled over you. The longer parts of his fine blonde hair tickled your face. You weren’t sure which scared you more, the volatile silence, or the unhinged laughter. The worse part was that he seemed genuine.

“Oh,” he breathed out, “how can I stay mad at you?”

He looks down at you with warm eyes and brings his hand to cup your sore cheek. His thumb idly strokes your cheekbone while he stares over your face. Your head swims with the rapid mood change and all you want to do is curl up and cry some more. Your body aches with new bruises, the worst being at the back of your head, which is starting to throb. You wonder if maybe you’d be so lucky to get a concussion, but squash the thought as soon as it crosses- you can’t afford to think like that.

Dave shifts himself so that his knees are no longer crushing your arms and his weight isn’t totally on you. He’s still straddling you, but at least you can breathe. He kisses your forehead gently, then your eyelids, your busted nose, your bloodied lips… he sprinkles kisses all over your banged up face like you were lovers and it makes you sick.

Finally, when he’s done, he pulls back, grinning cheekily.

He starts to say something, but his bedroom door then slams open, startling you both.

“Oops, did we interrupt?” came the slurred greeting. Stumbling in, comes a thin, tall blonde who’s smile could cure cancer. Behind her is a younger blonde, who looks just like the first, though her hair is shorter and her smile is tighter. 

You briefly wonder how you and Dave look, bloodied up and on the floor. The two women don’t seem to notice yours or Dave’s state as they spill into the room.

“Not that it would mattered,” Dave replies dryly. He pushes off of you and stands, but not before kissing your bruising nose. He steps over you towards the women with an almost shy smile. The taller woman immediately yanks Dave into a hug that included rocking back and forth.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she said. The shorter one repeats the sentiment, but makes no move to hug him. In fact, her lavender eyes never stray from you. You can’t read her expression, unless it’s that of utter apathy, but you feel a spark of hope. Maybe she can help you.

Your thoughts must have shown in your eyes because she quickly glances away.

“Dave!”

You look back to the older broad, who has Dave at arm’s length as she examines his slightly bruised face, her expression worried. Her pink eyes narrow when they turn to you. You could swear there was lighting flashing in those eyes.

“What did you do?” she demands. You try to sit up but your head swims even more and throbs where it smacked the floor. Your legs fall from the bed to the ground with a soft thud. You can’t see out of one of your eyes, and you certainly can’t breathe through your nose. 

“Auntie Lalonde,” Dave starts to say, but the woman in question is shoving him behind her and drawing a gun from a holster hidden on her thigh by her flowing skirt. The small handgun is pointed at you, unwavering and terrifying. Your breathing is constricted but you can’t tell if you feel more fear or relief.

“Auntie Lalonde, it was just a misunderstanding, please!” There’s real panic in Dave’s voice and you’re almost touched.

“I told you what happened to biting dogs,” rings in Bro. He must have heard all the commotion and is standing there beside the gun-wielding woman. There’s a knife in his fist and your stomach is lurching. You think you might puke. The younger blonde remains apathetic while Dave is shouting at the two adults.

“No! It was a misunderstanding and he’s been punished and forgiven for it!”

Bro turns his head to Dave, mouth set in a tight line. You can’t find your voice. Lalonde’s aim does not waver.

“It won’t happen again, Bro,” Dave says with fierce calm. His red eyes glare up into Bros ridiculous pointy shades.

After a moment, Bro sighs, then places his free hand on Lalonde’s wrists to lower them. She follows his silent command, but her glare never leaves you. “See to it that it doesn’t, Dave. I won’t tolerate disrespect from a pet in my home,” Bro finally answers, emphasizing pet. He turns his gaze towards you and you almost think he’ll leave you alone. But then his hand draws back and he throws the knife at you. It’s either by pure luck or true talent that it only cuts your cheek before sticking to the wall behind you.

“At least he’s learning responsibility,” pipes up the younger woman.

Your name is John Egbert and there’s no way you’re getting out of this alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After amother year long hiatus... hopefully I'll get better. My fiancé is supporting (forcing) me with writing again because it's been so long. And, this ended up being my only safe place. Thank you for the comments left in the year I've been absent. If it wasn't for those, I definitely would not have ever added to this.


	7. She Hates Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I tried too hard and she tore my feelings like I had none and ripped them away."

Your name is Dave Strider and today is your birthday.

So far today, you got “accessories” for John, with whom you got into “fisticuffs” with, which led to a gun being aimed at his head. And you haven't even had your cake yet. Nevertheless, you were determined to have a good day. That is, if you could figure out how.

You really wished that your family had a better first impression of John.

You follow Auntie Lalande and Bro out of your room, biting back a retort about Bro’s knife almost hitting your friend. Part of you hoped Bro’s aggressiveness would push John into your arms sooner rather than later. A smaller part worried that nothing would accomplish that.

Before you could dwell too long on the hopelessness of the situation, Auntie Lalonde throws an arm around you and pulls you close to her warm body. The smell of gunpowder and vanilla tickles your nose and soothes your nerves. She smells like home.

“How does it feel to be a legal adult?” she asks, chipper as always. Not a whole lot keeps her down and her optimistic attitude is a relief to your everyday stoicism.

“The same, I guess. I already do everything you're supposed to wait for until you're 18 anyway.”

“Yes, but now it's legal and I don't have to worry my baby boy will be put in prison,” she returns, steering you to the kitchen table. There was a pastry box with a plastic window displaying a child’s ninja turtle birthday cake. She pushes you into a chair and opens the box. As she sets about pushing the glittery candles in the cake, you muse over the irony of her statement.

Of course, she knows of yours and Bro’s line of work. Hell, she is as great hit man as Bro is and sometimes yall even do jobs together. Family vacations. Rose never really gets her hands dirty, but is helpful with research and ideas. You guessed you could call her the brains of the operation.

Auntie Lalonde pushes the now flickering cake towards you with a smile. Bro is leaning against the unused stove with folded arms and Cal hanging off his shoulders. Rose pads softly behind you and places a totally ironic birthday hat over your head before they start to sing Happy Birthday to you.

It's too much to hope that John would have joined. It's too much to hope that John will love you. It's too much.

You struggle to keep your face straight as you blow out your candles and your dysfunctional little family claps. You still hear John sobbing in the back of your mind.

John hates cake, you think as Auntie Lalonde cuts into the cake and serves you a slice. You stare at the cake and remember before John hated you. When John childishly blamed his dad for making him chubby with constant baking. John still ate the cakes his dad made, though, because he loved him and didn't want to hurt his feelings.

You know this as well as you know that Cal will never be more than three feet away from Bro at any given time.

The first bite of the green and black cake tastes like ashes on your tongue.

* * *

“Shut up, Lalonde.”

“I didn't say anything,” she answers. She doesn't look up from her knitting. The blonde is sitting cross-legged on the couch next to you, fingers working on a mass of black and purple yarn. You're pretty sure you've never seen her with any other shade of the shit.

“You didn't have to, you psycho babbling dark witch from the underground.”

Rose raises a delicate eyebrow but still doesn't meet your glare.

“From fear of proving your point, I will refrain from pointing out that you are reflecting your insecurities onto me in some sort of Freudian slip.”

You scoff. “Believe you me, I am NOT afraid of being a psycho babbling witch from the underground.”

“You forgot ‘dark,’ cousin, dear,” she returns.

You throw a pillow at her head, which she merely brushes away, still without looking at you. You really fucking hate her sometimes.

“And I have plenty of responsibility! I am very responsible! I'm so responsible that I could have fifty things to do and they'd all get done, color coded and time framed because I'm that goddamn responsible, so suck my dick!”

“That's not responsible, that's proficient and possibly obsessive-compulsive. Also, I have no desire to touch your genitals with a hundred inch pole and a bottle of bleach.

“Now, if you're quite done throwing expletives my way, you may continue to tell me what's actually bothering you.”

You glare at her some more before you throw your head onto her lap, unmindful of the yarn and needles in the way. She only sort of minds anyway.

“I love him,” you mumble, trying to smother yourself with the thick cotton. If she was in a foul mood, she would have made you repeat yourself until you were yelling it in her ear like some stupid ass romcom that fell ass first in the movies. But, be it because it's your birthday or because she was truly unoffended by you, she doesn't.

“I see,” she says.

“No, I really love him. He makes my kokoro go doki doki and all that other shit.”

“And you thought kidnapping him would be the most efficient way of declaring your love.”

You huff at her and roll your eyes.

“Bro did that. I just reaped the benefits.”

“Did you ever think of just letting him go?”

You sit up fast enough to make your head spin and snap your glare back at her.

“No, why haven't I thought of that! Let's just let him go and let him go to the authorities so Bro and I can land our assess in prison! I'm sure I can get him to love me back through fucking bars! He might even be into watching some burly hairy psycho ass fucking me from behind!”

“I hardly doubt any of us have the right to call anyone else a psycho.”

“Shut up, Rose.”

You storm off the couch and back into your room, making sure to slam the door extra hard, in case she didn't know you're more pissed than a skunk misfiring his stank into his own face.

You almost miss the startled jump and shutter of the boy in question.

John looks up at you with big teary eyes and you want to cry all over again.

“Do you want any fucking cake?” you demand.

He's sitting at your locked computer, face scowling. But he doesn't say anything and you miss him, the him he was before your birthday, the long debates about his shirt taste in everything, him listening to you rant and rap and laughing with you and you fucking miss him so much it hurts.

“I… just want this to work,” you say quietly. You're aware that every emotion is visible without your aviators on. But you kind of hope that it will play in your favor.

He doesn't say that it's impossible to love you. He doesn't say that he hates you. You kind of wish he did.

Instead, he pushes himself away from your computer and makes his way to your double sized bed, curls up, and closes his eyes. You follow suit and you're soon wrapped around his trembling frame. Eyes closed tight, you let out a breath.

It's gonna work. It's gonna work.

  
Some fucking birthday.


	8. Organ Donor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Drained my blood at the mortuary, no more worry, ice water in my veins. Took my bones to the cemetery, where they still remain."

Your name is Bro Strider and you hate it when Roxy is right.

 

Of course, you were really fucking proud when she aimed that gun at John's head, no hesitation at the sight of his watery blue eyes. She can be as cold-blooded as you are and you love it. Sometimes you wonder what life would be like if either of you were straight.

Both of you sit with your legs dangling over the edge of the roof, unfearful and unmindful of the long drop below. Roxy is still fuming over the bruises on Dave’s face, though she hid it well during the obligatory birthday rituals. Her hand shakes just a bit as she pulls a drag off the sloppy blunt.

She's still holding the smoke in as she passes it to you.

“Why the fuck,” she starts. Thick smoke leaks from her mouth as she speaks and you remember the first time you both ever smoked reefer together and how you both coughed and gagged. That was a million years ago.

“Why would you bring someone into your home that… I don't get why… Dirk, why!”

You exhaled your own hit before answering.

“Dave has demons, Rox. John fought them off for a whole while.”

She scoffs at the, taking the blunt back.

“A whole while, huh? What about now?”

You shrug.

“I dunno. Didn't think he'd hurt a fly, I guess.”

“No,” she bites back, “you just didn't think at all.”

You don't show that it stung a bit. You also don't acknowledge that she's right. Not that you needed to.

“Jesus, I'm fucking right, aren't I? What the fuck did I miss, Dirk?”

“Dave was happier than I'd ever seen him, Rox,” you admit.

Puff. Puff. Pass.

“What? He's always been happy! He has everything he could need! A family who loves him, a career, talents, you name it! What the fuck happened? You saw that boy on the street and decided that Dave needed a fuck toy? Do you even know if it has any diseases?”

Puff. Puff. Pass. 

You tell her everything. You source your information from the first day back in Washington with facts and dates and continue on through the obsessive texting and photographs hung up around the apartment. 

Puff. Puff. Pass. 

You confide that you know you made a mistake and that you didn't think any of it through and that, no, your Lil Bro most certainly was not happy. That he hasn't been in a while. That you just wanted to right by him.

Puff. Puff. Pass.

You even confide that you think the twerp was cute in a shitty way.

Puff.

Puff.

Pass.

“You're pretty fucked.” She says this as she flicks the burnt out roach into the busy street below.

“Your acute observations are astounding.”

“Scare the fuck out of him,” she finally says after a moment of comfortable silence. “I mean like really scare him. Hell, rough him up a bit.”

You chuckle darkly. “I kinda already do.”

“No. Not just when he fucks up. I'm talking about becoming his worst fucking nightmare.”

You raise an eyebrow, though Roxy couldn't see from behind your pointy shades. Not that she needed to see to know your thoughts.

“You familiar with Stockholm Syndrome? If you're his worst nightmare….”

Dave will be his knight in shining aviators.

“Yer a fuckin’ genius, doll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty ashamed of myself...


	9. Some Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck. Some nights I call it a draw. Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle. Some nights I wsh they'd just fall off."

Your name is John Egbert and you're kind of freaking the fuck out.

  


Dave is spooning you in the middle of the day- his BIRTHday, might you add, which somehow makes it seem even more pathetic. You didn't stop him from climbing into bed with you or wrapping his arms around your chubby frame. If you were honest with yourself (which you aren't) you would even admit to that being your goal.

Dave just looked so vulnerable without his dumb shades on. And you can't help but remember his uncool begging for that woman to lower her gun. And if you were really being honest? You really just needed some sort of comfort. 

This is a brand new low, even for you.

Dave is quiet behind you, his breathing even and slow. You wonder if he's asleep. You wish you could sleep, too. Being awake is exhausting nowadays.

Before you could nod off, however, Dave sighs heavily through his nose and tightens his hold around you.

“Why can't it always be this easy?”

You take a shuddering breath.

“I thought we were friends and… I thought we could be more. I've loved your goofy ass since I first met you. And maybe we didn't do it the right way but why can't you just try?”

You start to roll your eyes but the locked computer catches your gaze. An idea hatches in your brain and it seems like a good one. You choose your next words carefully.

“You're… you're right, Dave.” It comes out as a sigh.

“I mean we take good care of you. I'd give you the world if you wa- what?”

It's almost comical how he interrupts himself and pulls slightly away from your body. You'd laugh if it wasn't so serious a conversation. Besides, you feel your prankster gambit rise just a bit.

As you roll over to face him, you take another shuddering breath. You have to pull this off. You gotta.

“You're right, Dave. I'm sorry. But… can we take it slow?”

You keep your face straight as you stare in his eyes. His face is just as blank but you think there's the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“Are you for real?”

The next move is a risky one. But you need to pull this off. You need to survive, you need to try it.

You lower your eyes to his plush mouth and lean forward until moistened lips brush against his. It's feather light and your stomach is roiling with disgust and panic. Bile rises in the back of your throat but you swallow it down and press into the blonde a little more.

He eats the shit up.

Before he can deepen the kiss, however, you pull away. Your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots. Repulsion gives you goosebumps and staggers your breathing but it's obvious that Dave misconstrues it for something else. His grin reaches from ear to ear and, yes, those are definitely tears in his eyes.

“Oh, John.” It comes as a sigh.

“I… I want to take it slow, though, D-Dave.”

He rushes to reassure you that, of course, whatever you thought was best, that he loves you and wouldn't rush you for the world and he just loves you so goddamn much.

You give him one last kiss, soft and unsure, before you roll back over so he can spoon you, so he can't see your crumpling expression, and close your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this and the last two chapters are short and that it's been a long while since I wrote before then. But a lot has happened. And I'm thinking if I don't psyche myself out with long chapters, maybe I can keep this up. I'm very rusty and writing is almost painful but I'm trying.
> 
> Thank you for not giving up.


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